Unexpected
by I want
Summary: ONESHOT. She was alone and lonely all at once. All he'd done was be around. She wouldn't be the same after it all.


**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the epilogue might not have ever happened, Hedwig wouldn't have died, neither would Tonks or Lupin...**

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Do you ever wonder if someone else in the world was thinking the exact same thing as you at that exact moment, down to every infinitesimal detail? What if that someone was the one you were meant to be with? Was it the one that undoubtedly understood every iota of your essence? The one who so wholly _completed_ you? How could _anyone_ possibly know if they were meant to be with that _one _person? And what would happen once you found them? A better question yet, how _would_ one find them? Would they just have some sort of inner compass that would lead you to each other? Was it a feeling, a decision, or something far greater than just you and me? Who would go around blindly searching for _the one?_ That is the question that shapes our lives.

Hermione Granger supposed it had a lot to do with faith. Then again, people were always rather gullible when it came to matters of the heart. She couldn't comprehend for the life of her how people would willingly set themselves up for such heartbreak or leave themselves so vulnerable to another person's whims and fancies. Love, would always seem to escape her; at least romantic love. The simple and unwavering truth at the end of the day was that any one of the two people in the relationship was bound to 'fall out of love' at any given time and when that happened; did that mean it wasn't true love? How could anyone define true love? Was it ingrained into our very beings so that we would recognise it immediately? She laughed at that thought. Lots of people claimed to have found their true love and then five years down the road they were broken up and moving on to 'bigger and better' things.

She knew from experience. Not the true love bit, but the breaking up and moving on. At least with Ron, she knew what she was getting herself into. But their relationship was something that evolved out of friendship and the fear of being alone. Plus he had seemed so _desperate_ and she really didn't feel like telling him all the reasons why they would inevitably be so _wrong _for each other. She was tired of lying to Ron and to herself, for separate reasons completely, so she took the easy way out. Fat lot of good that did her.

One year, seven months, countless arguments, broken dishes and five slaps on different occasions (to Ron) later, it was over. The only relationship in her adult life and it was over. Somehow they both knew it was doomed from the beginning, but that didn't stop anything did it? Twenty-fucking-five years old and she felt as though her life was over. Life was a bitch and she knew it. She didn't care. Not about her failed relationship, not the reason for doing it, not even about using Ron to fill her loneliness. Because, he had done the same thing to her, but maybe, just maybe he thought they were the right reasons. Love, whatever the kind, had been the catalyst in their relationship but at some point she realised it wasn't enough to just have the initial infatuation there, hoping it would develop into something deeper, more meaningful and soul-changing.

So she sat on her porch step in the backyard, contemplating her existence. She and Ron were alright now. It had been over six months now since their break-up. She swirled the remnants of wine in her glass, hugging her knees to her chest as the wind picked up. Funny how her life was turning out. She looked up at the almost black clouds in the red sky.

Rain.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance but it wasn't close enough to bring her inside. She thought about calling Harry and Ron over. Maybe they could be lonely together? Oh, wait; she was the only one wallowing in self-pity. Ron was off with some fan he'd met at a Quidditch game, Harry and Luna (who'd have thought?) were on a date supposedly 'in love' with each other. God, when had _she_ become so cynical about life and love?

When life decided to fuck her over.

She wasn't always like this. No, and she knew it too. But life happened and she had to grow up. Just like everyone else at eighteen when the final battle raged on at Hogwarts. Flashes and sporadic glimpses of that night passed through her brain like a bad movie. She grimaced, willing herself not to spiral downward into depression as she had weakly let herself do all those years ago.

The wind was picking up now, but still she stayed. Even after she felt the first heavy raindrops fall onto her cheeks making it seem as though she was crying. Maybe, the sky was crying for her. She liked that thought. She was so pathetic, the sky was crying. She laughed, almost like if she was insane. She thought she was. And that said a lot.

About her mental sanity at least. Not about the other fucked up arenas of her life.

A chill settled deep within her bones as the rain came pouring down in sheets. The glass slipped from her hands as she got up and started running inside to her warm house.

Big mistake.

Her foot crunched down on the glass, sounding almost like gravel but she couldn't tell. All she knew was that all of a sudden there was pain. It was white-hot, make you want to curl up and die, pull your hair out, excruciatingly mind-numbing pain. She was already halfway there, so hopping to the door; she wrenched the handle open and dropped into the chair in the kitchen. She was freezing, though whether it was from loss of blood or being out in the rain, it was unclear.

Her wand. Where had she put the fucking thing?

Her eyes scanned the surroundings. Shuddering slightly, she spotted it on top of the mantel. What the hell was it doing there? Gathering her strength, she _accio'd_ the wand and gripped the thin, wooden tool, her knuckles turning white as a wave of the white-hotness washed over her again. She felt close to unconsciousness at this point. The blood and constant pain being too much for her.

Vaguely, she heard pounding. Was it the door? She focused more intently this time. It was indeed the door. She groaned in pain and saw the opened bottle of wine on the table. She grabbed it and swigged a mouthful, the pain subsiding minimally. Onto the next problem. Foot, or get the door _and_ help with the foot? The answer was simple. Uncaring of who was actually _at _the door, she said a quick unlocking spell and yelled to the visitor to come in.

"Could you just come in? I need some help, so if you wouldn't mind, I'm in the kitchen."

Of course, leave it to Hermione to not care about just _who_ she was letting into her abode. She heard the squish of wet boots on the wood as the figure made its way into the kitchen. All she could think was that her floor was going to be ruined.

She saw a shadow hovering near her and looked up seeing a hooded man in a thick, damp cloak. He shrugged it off unceremoniously and only then did she see the unmistakable platinum hair.

"Malfoy?" she asked incredulously, the pain momentarily forgotten.

"Granger, what a nice surprise to see a friendly face. Of all the houses, I stopped at yours."

She whimpered in pain then, completely forgetting all that he'd just spoken or even the fact that he was Malfoy.

"I don't particularly care right now," she ground out, "I'm in a bit of a predicament."

Then he'd noticed the trail of blood and followed it to her foot. He knelt down to her level in the kitchen. "What the hell happened to you? Never mind, where's your wand?" He said it gruffly and she looked at him warily. But the pain being unbearable, she handed it over and grimaced as he took her foot in his hands, cradling it almost gently.

"I'm not going to lie. It's going to hurt like hell so have some alcohol and I'll extract the pieces of glass."

He began, and it was unlike anything she'd ever felt before in her life, the sheer amount of pain was enough to make her pass out. She slumped in the chair, completely knocked out as Malfoy finished with the remaining shards of glass. He healed it as best he knew and found something to bandage it with. Now what was he going to do with Granger? This was her fucking house! He didn't come here to _help_ her. He just wanted a place to sleep for the night. He supposed he wasn't going to get that now.

He gingerly picked her up from the chair and held her in his arms for a moment. The warmth radiating from her body was enough to make him shiver in his rain-soaked clothes. He looked around, feeling severely out of place, and then proceeded to find her bedroom. He kicked open the first door out of the kitchen and found her room. He laid her on the bed and drew the blanket over her. Watching her face contort in pain, he backed out of her personal space and into the kitchen.

He didn't want to leave, something compelled him to stay. He shed his clothes, save for his boxers and started a fire in the living room. Nothing left to do; he tentatively lay on one of the couches facing the hearth, hoped that Granger wouldn't kill him in the morning and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

*****

Hermione woke in the morning, a dull throbbing in her foot and a sharp pain in her head. The faint light streaming in did nothing to help her current state of mind. Briefly she wondered what happened to her last night but then everything rushed back to her like a wave claiming the shore.

Glass.

Blood.

Door.

_Malfoy._

She shot out of bed, wincing at the pulse of her foot. The door was closed. He wouldn't _still _be here? No, that was impossible. He wouldn't _dare_ stay at her house. He hated her and why would he stay at his enemy's home? He had literally dropped off of the face of the earth six years ago! This was the first anyone had seen of him since the very public death of his mother a year after the final battle. Hermione understood why he would've done something like that. She herself hadn't disappeared per se, but after the war she went to Australia. Partly to undo the charms on her parents and partly to gain a sense of self. She'd only recently come back when Ron decided he wanted a relationship with her.

Nevertheless, Hermione recalled the memory of Malfoy in her kitchen last night. He was tall. Still as pale as ever but there was something about him. He didn't have that look of disdain on his face anymore or the ever-present snarl. The sharp, pointy features had been chiselled away and left in place a defined jaw and a sprinkling of blond stubble on the man before her. She wanted to believe he was different, because if he looked different, sounded different and even acted differently, then could it be that he really was?

She cracked open her door and surveyed the floor. Nothing out of place. She tip-toed out if the room then immediately felt like a fool. It was her house. Why was she the one _sneaking_ around? She had no right to feel guilty in _her_ fucking home!

With a slight limp, she made her way to the living room where the signs of a fire were present along with the now-dry clothes of a male. He stayed. Hermione didn't know what to think at that moment. Should she feel angry, scared, violated? All that coursed through her veins was confusion.

She inched closer to the sofa and glanced over. She saw the sleeping form of Malfoy, clad in boxers and almost wanted to scream. His eyes moved erratically under his eyelids and ever so often he would move his lips as if speaking. She moved her hand to poke him on the chest but the moment her hand made contact with his skin, his eyes shot open, a hand grabbed her wrist and she found herself being captured, his body on top of hers on the couch. She looked at him, fear gripping her. His eyes were glazed and frantic, and then as if registering who and where he was, he eased his grip on her, climbed off the couch and slumped to the carpeted floor.

He buried his face in his hands, and Hermione just sat there behind him, completely shocked. What the _fuck_ had just happened? He got up and began to dress, eyes downcast and unreadable. "Thanks for not killing me. Sorry for invading your privacy, I just needed a place for the night. I'd say see you around but I wouldn't count on that happening." He turned then, and without a backward glance, opened the door and left.

She stayed on the couch for the remainder of the day. She didn't even know why. But something about their rather frightful encounter caused a myriad of emotions within her, the least of which were love. Because, how could she if this was the first anyone'd seen of him since he was eighteen? No, she felt something acutely close to pity for the man who'd been inside her home.

The night came and left, and Hermione finally broken of her spell, rose from the couch. It was weird to say the least that Malfoy was the one at her door, healed her foot, _and _stayed the night. She shook her head in disbelief as she prepared the coffee maker. There was a knock at her door. She stilled. Who could it be at seven thirty in the morning? Looking through the peep hole first (she didn't want a repeat of…whatever _that_ was), no one was at her doorstep. Then just as suddenly, a head of blond hair came into view and she gasped in shock.

He knocked again. "Granger, open up. I know you're there." Well he didn't actually, but it served his purposes because less than a second later she opened the door a smidgen.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be preparing for some interview about your return to the wizarding world? Not here fraternizing with the likes of me?" She sort of spat it in his face (because honestly, what the fuck would _Malfoy _be doing at her doorstep, looking so…friendly?) but he just stood there unwavering, a small half-smirk on his lips.

"Granger, Granger, Granger. Hasn't time taught you to trust people? Not that I'm asking you to trust me but I would like to offer you thanks. I brought breakfast…as a peace offering I suppose. And anyway, haven't you read the Daily Prophet? No one knows I'm back. Just you."

_Just you. _

Now why did those two words make Hermione's stomach tremble in unwanted pleasure?

He held a large, brown paper bag in front of him as if her seeing it would make her believe. Well it was worth a try. If anyone asked at this point, Draco wouldn't know the reason why he found himself standing in front of Granger's house with a bag of breakfast items. He also would be able to explain the relief that washed over him when she opened the door to allow his entrance.

He stepped in as she turned back into the kitchen. "How's your foot? You're not wearing the bandage anymore."

She stopped preparing her coffee, taken aback by the look of concern Malfoy was giving her. "It's fine, all healed. Thank you. Coffee?"

She slid a cup to him, took out two plates and began distributing the pastries he brought.

They ate in silence, not a single word spoken after her offering of coffee, then they were both through and he stood.

"Thanks for breakfast." She said it softly.

"It was no problem." Then, all she saw was the door opening and closing as he left her house.

*****

He returned everyday for the rest of the week at the same time, with breakfast. On the seventh day however, a Saturday, instead of their usual silent breakfast, he spoke.

"Why do you let me in everyday?"

She stopped mid-chew on her strawberry tart and thought. Really thought. Why _was_ she having breakfast with him? Had she come to expect it? Did she like it? Maybe. But right now, for Hermione, it was a way to escape the loneliness. And she told him as much.

"I just figured, I'm lonely, you must be lonely, so why not be lonely together? And anyway, why do you keep coming back?"

He smiled at her then, his eyes crinkling at the corners and she was so amazed because she'd never seen him do it before. He should do it more often she thought.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know why. I suppose it's because I'm lonely and the fact that I'm just not ready to go back to the wizarding world. Or it could be that you're the only one that's decent company right now."

They were finished now and he stood, as always, they exchanged thanks and he left her again. She couldn't help but think that maybe her life was turning around… all because of Malfoy.

*****

He came back the next day, and she let him in but he was empty handed this time. He didn't sit at the kitchen table as she went to prepare their coffees. She didn't find it odd in the least that she knew exactly how he liked his coffee (black, one sugar).

"I was thinking about what you told me and everything else yesterday." Draco paused here, waiting for her to look at him, almost as a signal to continue. "Why are you lonely? I know why I am, I suppose you know why I am too. But why on earth would _you_ be? You've got friends, a family, people who love you."

There it was again. That word. _Love_.

"You're probably thinking that I'm the last person on earth who should be talking to you about love right? Because, hey, I was one messed up teenager and I don't even think I _have_ the capacity to love. I'm probably still the cold-hearted bastard I was back at school." Draco didn't know why his mouth wouldn't stop moving. It was like his brain had refused to work and now he was just spewing off every thought that came to mind. Diarrhoea of the mouth.

Since when did he decide to tell _Granger_ his innermost thoughts?

Since he showed up at her doorstep a week ago, and slept over.

His first thought was to preserve himself and run. Fast.

She looked at him, really looked, as if she was finally seeing _him_. But when she realised that she no longer pitied the man, it was more along the lines of actually caring, he was already gone.

She didn't see him again for three weeks.

*****

In the weeks since their unsettling conversation, Hermione found herself paying closer attention to the rag of a paper, the Daily Prophet, for some sign of Malfoy. What did she care anyway if he was back in the spotlight? She honestly couldn't give a rat's arse about the man. He was complicated, insufferable…and completely different. Was that why she was concerned about him? Yes. She didn't even know if he lived anywhere. What could she do anyway? It was his choice to come back or not. It wasn't like they were friends or anything of the sort.

She just missed his company. He filled the loneliness for a bit.

She was back on her porch again, without the glass of wine this time. The sun was gradually rising in the grey sky. It wasn't a particularly chilly morning but still she hugged her arms closer to her body. It was almost as if a presence was with her, and if Hermione had cared for divination back at school, she might've felt proud about that fact.

In fact, someone was behind her. And she knew exactly who.

"Nice morning isn't it?" she said breezily.

He sat next to her, their bodies barely touching. "Yes, I quite like the morning time. I brought breakfast."

She laughed then. "You're actually early." And just like that- as though he hadn't stopped coming over in three weeks, their conversation, and her loneliness- _everything_ was okay. They didn't know it at the time, but something had changed – for the both of them.

They didn't eat breakfast at her kitchen table this time. Instead they stayed on the porch steps, occasionally taking something from the brown paper bag. Hermione decided to say what was bothering her ever since he left those weeks ago.

"I don't think you're cold-hearted, or a bastard. I just think you're misguided. Maybe a little confused but you've changed. I can see it. And maybe, I like the new you."

She wasn't sure if she meant like at a deeper level but right now, she didn't correct herself. He looked at her for a long while, his silver eyes staring into her whisky ones. She was the first to break contact under his penetrating gaze. He stared straight ahead, taking in large breaths of air.

"How would you know that I've changed? It's not like you knew me in the first place. Besides, we've only seem each other a handful of times. I don't even _know_ who I am or _why_ I keep coming back to your house. I've got no one else and you seem like the only one who understands _anything! _At least you aren't telling every tabloid from here to Australia that I've returned."

His words weren't meant to hurt. She knew by the way he said everything without emotion and continued looking at the sky. Hermione felt an uncontrollable urge to comfort him just then. So she did. She moved closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

He looked at her, confused by her hand and sighed wearily. "Granger, I came here to tell you something. Do you think it's possible to…develop feelings for someone if you've only spoken about five times?" She retracted her hand, feeling an odd sense of hurt. Why was he telling her about some girl he liked? She didn't care for it. What could someone as lonely and pathetic as her tell someone like him about affairs of the heart?

"It's just, that lately or rather ever since three weeks ago, you're all I can think about."

What? Was she the girl Malfoy liked? This couldn't be possible. She wasn't even sure she _liked_ him. Of course she did for she said as much! Not to mention, there was the fact that she wanted to comfort him _and_ she felt hurt and jealousy when he told her of this girl he liked. Merlin, did Hermione Granger have a crush on Draco Malfoy?

She opened her mouth and when nothing came out, shut it again and wrung her hands together. "Me? You like _me_? How? What? Are you sure?" Tense silence ensued as both tried to put into words their feelings.

He stood at the bottom step, "I'll see you tomorrow, maybe."

And before she could utter a single word, he left her again.

By the time Draco left, the sun was high in the sky, and the warmth was stifling Hermione. She stood, her body protesting after being in a fixed position for so long. She had to think.

Did she like him? Furthermore, where would it go? He had so many problems…well not really, just the fact that he shut himself away from the wizarding world. She was confused. Big time.

There was a knock at the door again, but before she could answer it, the handle turned and Malfoy walked back in. "Okay just listen. I know I've got problems, some more than others, but I think we could work. I'm not saying it would be easy, but don't people work for the good things in life? And the truth is, I'm happier after I see you in the morning. At first I thought it was because I was back home, but then when I didn't see you for so long, I was lonely and angry. I just want a chance." He stood at the door, waiting with bated breath.

Hermione found it queer that the very same things she was thinking about were what he came to assure her of. It was like they were already connected. And then, it was like she knew. Something inside her clicked. Like pieces of a puzzle fitting together. Could this be what she was waiting for? She stepped forward tentatively, as if he would somehow reject her after baring _his_ feelings.

"I think I'd like to try too, because you take away my loneliness, and everything is just a little bit better with you. It's like my world is okay with you around." He smiled so truly at her and she knew he felt it too.

And in the morning light, he held her face in his hands, seeing her for who she was. His lips met hers in a painstakingly slow kiss, as he filled her so completely with his warmth and she reciprocated, knowing that somehow she had found that 'one'.

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**A/N: Well what did you think? What's that? I can't understand you. Maybe if you pressed that green button and left a review, I'd know. So how about it? Thanks for reading. I appreciate it! **


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